University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Enter Zamti.
ZAMTI.
Dream on, deluded tyrant; yes, dream on
In blind security:—whene'er high heav'n
Means to destroy, it curses with illusion,
With error of the mind.—Yes, wreak thy fury
Upon this captive youth;—whoe'er he is,
If from his death this groaning empire rise,
Once more itself, resplendent, rich in arts
That humanize the world,—he pays a debt
Due to his King, his Country, and his God.
His father,—wheresoe'er he dwell,—in tears
Shall tell the glory on his boy deriv'd;
And ev'n his mother, 'midst her matron shrieks,
Shall bless the childbed pang that brought him forth
To this great lot, by fate to few allow'd!—
What would'st thou, Mirvan?—

Enter Mirvan.
MIRVAN.
Eagerly without,
A rev'rend stranger craves access to Zamti—
His head hoary with age, with galling tears
His eyes suffus'd; his ev'ry look impatience—

ZAMTI.
Give him admittance—
[Exit Mirvan.
—How my spirits rush
Tumultuous to my heart—what may this mean?
Lo! where he comes—

Enter Morat.
MORAT.
Zamti!—

ZAMTI.
Ha!—thro' the veil
Of age,—that face—that mien—Morat!

MORAT.
Oh! Zamti,
Let me once more embrace thee—

ZAMTI.
Good old man!
They embrace.
But wherefore art thou here?—what of my boy?

MORAT.
Ah! what indeed?—Ev'n from the ocean's margin,
Parch'd with the sun, or chill'd with midnight damps,
O'er hills, and rocks, and dreary continents,
In vain I've follow'd—

ZAMTI.
Why didst let him forth?

MORAT.
Think not thy Morat urg'd him to the deed.
His valour was the cause; and soon as fame
Proclaim'd the prince alive, the mighty din
Of preparation through all Corea's realm
Alarm'd his breast—Indignant of controul
He burst his covert, and now, hapless youth—

ZAMTI.
Ah!—dead!—in battle fall'n!—

MORAT.
Alas! ev'n now
He drags the conqu'ror's chain.—

ZAMTI.
Mandane then
May still embrace her son.—My boy may live,
To know the sweets of freedom, e'er he die.

MORAT.
Alas! the measure of your woes is full.
Unconscious of our frauds, the tyrant thinks
The prince his pris'ner in your son.—

ZAMTI.
Ah!—Morat!

MORAT.
Wild thro' the streets the foe calls out on Zamti.
Thee they pronounce the author of this fraud;
And on your Hamet threaten instant vengeance.

ZAMTI.
There was but this—but this, ye cruel pow'rs,
And this you've heap'd upon me.—Was it not
Enough to tear him from his mother's arms,
Doom'd for his prince to wander o'er the world?
—Alas! what needed more?—Fond foolish eyes,
Stop your unbidden gush—tear, tear me piecemeal—
—No, I will not complain—but whence on him
Could that suspicion glance?—

MORAT.
This very morn,
E'er yet the battle join'd, a faithful messenger,
Who thro' the friendly gloom of night had held
His darkling way, and pass'd the Tartar's camp,
Brought me advices from the Corean chief,—
That soon as Hamet join'd the warlike train,
His story he related.—Strait the gallant leader
With open arms receiv'd him—knew him for thy son,
In secret knew him, nor reveal'd he aught
That touch'd his birth.—But still the busy voice
Of fame, encreasing as she goes, through all the ranks
Babbled abroad each circumstance.—By thee
How he was privately convey'd—Sent forth
A tender infant to be rear'd in solitude,
A stranger to himself!—The warriors saw
With what a graceful port he mov'd in arms,
An early hero!—deem'd him far above
The common lot of life—deem'd him Zaphimri,
And all with reverential awe beheld him.
This, this, my Zamti, reach'd the tyrant's ear,
And rises into horrid proof.—

ZAMTI.
If so,
Oh! what a sacrifice must now be made!

Aside.
MORAT.
But when the secret shall be known—

ZAMTI.
Oh! Morat!
Does thy poor bleeding country still remain
Dear to thy heart?—Say, dost thou still revere
That holy pow'r above, Supreme of Beings,
Mistaken by the Bonzée, whom our fathers
Worshipp'd in happier days!—

MORAT.
He,—only he
For twenty years hath giv'n me strength in exile.

ZAMTI.
Then bending here, before his awful throne,
Swear what I now unfold, shall ever lie
In sacred silence wrapp'd.—

MORAT.
I swear!—

ZAMTI.
Now mark me—
Morat—my son— (turning aside.)
Oh! cruel, cruel task,
To conquer nature while the heart-strings break.—

MORAT.
Why heave those sighs?—and why that burst of grief?

ZAMTI.
My son—his guiltless blood—I cannot speak—

Bursts into tears.
MORAT.
Ha!—Wilt thou shed his blood?—

ZAMTI.
Thou wretched father!—

Half aside.
MORAT.
Oh! had you known the virtues of the youth;
His truth, his courage, his enlighten'd mind—

ZAMTI.
I prithee urge no more—here nature's voice
Speaks in such pleadings:—Such reproaches, Morat,
—Here in my very heart—gives woundings here,
Thou can'st not know—and only parents feel—

MORAT.
And wilt thou, cruel in thy tears—

ZAMTI.
Nay cease,
In pity to a father cease—Think, Morat,
Think of Zaphimri—

MORAT.
Ah! how fares the prince?

ZAMTI.
He fares, my Morat, like a God on earth,
Unknowing his celestial origin:
Yet quick, intense, and bursting into action;
His great heart labr'ing with he knows not what
Prodigious deeds!—Deeds, which e'er long shall rouze,
Astonish, and alarm the world.—

MORAT.
What mean
Those mystic sounds?

ZAMTI.
Revenge, conquest, and freedom!—

MORAT.
Conquest and freedom!

ZAMTI.
Ay!—Conquest and freedom!
The midnight hour shall call a chosen band
Of hidden patriots forth; who, when the foe
Sinks down in drunken revelry, shall pour
The gather'd rage of twenty years upon him,
And vindicate the eastern world.—

MORAT.
Oh! Zamti,
The news revives my soul.—

ZAMTI.
And can'st thou think
To save one vulgar life, that Zamti now
Will marr the vast design?—No;—let him bleed,
Let my boy bleed:—In such a cause as this
I can resign my son—with tears of joy
Resign him,—and one complicated pang
Shall wrench him from my heart.—
The conqu'ror comes!
Warlike music within.
This is no hour for parlying—Morat, hence,
And leave me to my fix'd resolve.—

MORAT.
Yet think,
Think of some means to save your Hamet.—

ZAMTI.
Oh!
It cannot be—the soul of Timurkan
Is bold and stirring—when occasion calls,
He springs aloft, like an expanding fire,
And marks his way with ruin.—Now he knows
Zaphimri lives, his fear will make him daring
Beyond his former crimes—for joy and riot
Which this day's triumph brings, remorseless rage
And massacre succeed—and all our hopes
Are blasted, for an unimportant boy.

A second flourish.
MORAT.
That nearer sound proclaims his dread approach—
Yet once more, Zamti, think—

ZAMTI.
No more—I'll send
Those shall conduct thee where Orasming lives—
There dwell, unseen of all.—But, Morat, first
Seek my Mandane.—Heav'ns!—how shall I bear
Her strong impetuosity of grief,
When she shall know my fatal purpose?—Thou
Prepare her tender spirit; sooth her mind,
And save, oh! save me from that dreadful conflict.

[Exeunt.
Two large Folding-gates in the Back-scene are burst open by the Tartars, and then enter Timurkan, with his Train.
TIMURKAN.
Hail to this regal dome, this glitt'ring palace!
Where this inventive race have lavish'd all
Their elegance;—ye gay apartments, hail!
Beneath your storied roof, where mimic life
Glows the eye, and at the painter's touch
A new creation lives along the walls;
Once more receive a conqueror, arriv'd
From rougher scenes, where stern rebellion dar'd
Draw forth his phalanx; till this warlike arm
Hurl'd desolation on his falling ranks,
And now the monster, in yon field of death,
Lies overwhelm'd in ruin.—

OCTAR.
There he fell,
No more to stalk thy realm; the eastern world
From this auspicious day, beneath your feet
Lies bound in adamantine chains.—

TIMURKAN.
Thus Octar,
Shall Timurkan display his conqu'ring banners,
From high Samarcand's walls, to where the Tanais
Devolves his icy tribute to the sea.—

OCTAR.
But first this captive prince.—

TIMURKAN.
Yes, Octar, first
Zaphimri gluts my rage—bring him before us—first
We'll crush the seeds of dark conspiracy—
For Zamti—he, that false insidious slave,
Shall dearly pay his treasons.—

OCTAR.
Zamti's crimes
'Twere best to leave unpunish'd:—vers'd in wiles
Of sly hypocrisy, he wins the love
Of the deluded multitude.—'Twould seem,
Should we inflict that death his frauds deserve,
As if we meant destruction to their faith:
When a whole people's minds are once inflam'd
For their religious rights, their fury burns
With rage more dreadful, as the source is holy.—

TIMURKAN.
Octar, thou reason'st right:—henceforth my art
To make this stubborn race receive my yoke,
Shall be by yielding to their softer manners,
Their vesture, laws, and customs: thus to blend
And make the whole one undistinguish'd people.
The boy comes forth in sullen mood—what passions
Swell in his breast in vain!—

Enter Hamet in chains.
TIMURKAN.
Thou art the youth,
Who mow'd our battle down, and flesh'd your sword
In many a slaughter'd Tartar.—

HAMET.
True;—I am.—

TIMURKAN.
Too well I mark'd thy rage, and saw thee hew
A wasteful passage thro' th'embattled plain.

HAMET.
Then be thou witness for me, in that hour
I never shunn'd your thickest war;—and if
In yonder field, where my poor countrymen
In mangled heaps lie many a rood extended,
Kind fare had doom'd me to a noble fall,
With this right arm I earn'd it.—

TIMURKAN.
Say, what motive
Unsheath'd thy rebel blade, and bad thee seek
These wars?—

HAMET.
The love of honourable deeds;
The groans of bleeding China, and the hate
Of tyrants.

TIMURKAN.
Ha!—take heed, rash youth—I see
This lesson has been taught thee.—Octar, haste,
Seek me the mandarine—let him forthwith
Attend me here. (Exit Octar.)
—Now tremble at my words!
Thy motive to these wars is known—thou art
Zaphimri.—

HAMET.
I Zaphimri!

TIMURKAN.
False one, yes;
Thou art Zaphimri—thou!—whom treach'rous guile
Stole from my rage, and sent to distant wilds,
Till years and horrid counsel should mature thee
For war and wild commotion.—

HAMET.
I the prince!
The last of China's race! nay mock not majesty,
Nor with the borrow'd robes of sacred kings
Dress up a wretch like me—were I Zaphimri,
Think'st thou thy trembling eye could bear the shock
Of a much injur'd king?—could'st thou sustain it?
Say, could'st thou bear to view a royal orphan,
Whose father, mother, brothers, sisters, all,
Thy murd'rous arm hath long since laid in dust?
Whose native crown on thy ignoble brow
Thou dar'st dishonour?—whose wide wasted country
Thy arms have made a wilderness?—

TIMURKAN.
I see
Thou hast been tutor'd in thy lone retreat
By some sententious pedant.—Soon these vain,
These turgid maxims shall be all subdued
By thy approaching death.—

HAMET.
Let death come on;
Guilt, guilt alone shrinks back appall'd—the brave
And honest still defy his dart; the wise
Calmly can eye his frown;—and misery
Invokes his friendly aid to end her woes.—

TIMURKAN.
Thy woes, presumptuous youth, with all my fears,
Shall soon lie buried.—

Enter Zamti.
TIMURKAN.
Now, pious false one, say, who is that youth?

ZAMTI.
His air, his features, and his honest mien
Proclaim all fair within.—But, mighty sir,
I know him not.—

TIMURKAN.
Take heed, old man; nor dare,
As thou do'st dread my pow'r, to practice guile
Beneath a mask of sacerdotal perfidy:
Priestcraft, I think, calls it a pious fraud.

ZAMTI.
Priestcraft and sacerdotal perfidy
To me are yet unknown.—Religion's garb
Here never serves to consecrate a crime;
We have not yet, thank heav'n, so far imbib'd
The vices of the north.—

TIMURKAN.
Thou vile impostor!
Avow Zaphimri, whom thy treach'rous arts
Conceal'd from justice; or else desolation
Again shall ravage this devoted land.

ZAMTI,
Alas! full well thou know'st, that arm already
Hath shed all royal blood.—

TIMURKAN.
Traitor, 'tis false;—
By thee, vile slave, I have been wrought to think
The hated race destroy'd—thy artful tale
Abus'd my cred'lous ear.—But know, at length
Some captive slaves, by my command impal'd,
Have own'd the horrid truth;—have own'd they fought
To seat Zaphimri on the throne of China.
Hear me, thou froward boy;—dar'st thou be honest,
And answer who thou art?—

HAMET.
Dare I be honest?—
I dare;—a mind grown up in native honour
Dares not be otherwise—then if thy troops
Ask from the lightning of whose blade they fled,
Tell 'em 'twas Hamet's.—

ZAMTI.
'Tis—it is my son—
My boy,—my Hamet—

Aside.
TIMURKAN.
Where was your abode?—

HAMET.
Far hence remote, in Corea's happy realm—
Where the first beams of day with orient blushes
Tinge the salt wave—there on the sea-beat shore
A cavern'd rock yielded a lone retreat
To virtuous Morat.—

ZAMTI.
Oh! ill-fated youth!

Aside.
HAMET.
The pious hermit in that moss-grown dwelling
Found an asylum from heart-piercing woes,
From slav'ry, and that restless din of arms
With which thy fell ambition shook the world.
There too the sage nurtur'd my greener years;
With him and contemplation have I walk'd
The paths of wisdom; what the great Confucius
Of moral beauty taught,—whate'er the wise,
Still wooing knowlege in her secret haunts,
Disclos'd of nature to the sons of men,
My wond'ring mind has heard—but above all
The hermit taught me the most useful science,
That noble science, to be Brave and Good.—

ZAMTI.
Oh! lovely youth—at ev'ry word he utters,
A soft effusion mix'd of grief and joy
Flows o'er my heart.

Aside.
TIMURKAN.
Who, said he, was your father?

HAMET.
My birth, the pious sage,—I know not why—
Still wrapp'd in silence; and when urg'd to tell,
He only answer'd that a time might come,
I should not blush to know my father.—

TIMURKAN.
Now,
With truth declare, hast thou ne'er heard of Zamti?

HAMET.
Of Zamti?—oft enraptur'd with his name
My heart has glow'd within me, as I heard
The praises of the godlike man.—

TIMURKAN.
Thou slave,
To Zamti.
Each circumstance arraigns thy guilt.—

HAMET.
Oh! heav'ns!
Can that be Zamti?

TIMURKAN.
Yes, that is the traitor—

HAMET.
Let me adore his venerable form,
Thus on my knees adore—

ZAMTI.
I cannot look upon him,
Lest tenderness dissolve my feeble pow'rs,
And wrest my purpose from me—

Aside.
TIMURKAN.
Hence, vain boy!
Thou specious traitor, thou false hoary moralist!
To Zamti.
Confusion has o'erta'en thy subtle frauds.
To make my crown's assurance firm, that none
Hereafter shall aspire to wrench it from me,
Now own your fancied king; or, by yon heav'n,
To make our vengeance sure, thro' all the east
Each youth shall die, and carnage thin mankind,
Till in the gen'ral wreck your boasted Orphan
Shall undistinguish'd fall.—Thou know'st my word
Is fate.—Octar, draw near—when treason lurks
Each moment's big with danger—thou observe
These my commands—

Talks apart to Octar.
ZAMTI.
Now virtuous cruelty repress my tears.
—Cease your soft conflict, nature.—Hear me, Tartar.—
That youth—his air—his ev'ry look, unmans me quite.—

TIMURKAN.
Wilt thou begin, dissembler?

ZAMTI.
Down, down, down—
It must be so, or all is lost—That youth,—
I've dealt by him—as ev'ry king could wish
In a like case his faithful subjects would.

TIMURKAN.
Ha!—dost thou own it?—Triumph, Timurkan,
And in Zaphimri's grave lie hush'd my fears.
Brave Octar, let the victim strait be led
To yonder sacred fane; there, in the view
Of my rejoicing Tartars, the declining sun
Shall see him offer'd to our living Lama,
For this day's conquest:—thence a golden train
Of radiant years, shall mark my future sway.

[Exit.
ZAMTI.
Flow, flow my tears, and ease this aching breast.

HAMET.
Nay, do not weep for me, thou good old man.
If it will close the wounds of bleeding China,
That a poor wretch like me must yield his life,
I give it freely.—If I am a king,
Tho' sure it cannot be, what greater blessing
Can a young prince enjoy, than to diffuse,
By one great act, that happiness on millions,
For which his life should be a round of care?
Come, lead me to my fate.—

[Exit with Octar, &c.
ZAMTI.
Hold, hold my heart!
—My gallant, gen'rous youth!—Mandane's air,
His mother's dear resemblance rives my soul.

MANDANE
within.
Oh! let me fly, and find the barb'rous man—
Where—where is Zamti?—

ZAMTI.
Ha!—'tis Mandane—
Wild as the winds, the mother all alive
In ev'ry heartstring, the forlorn one comes
To claim her boy.—

Enter Mandane.
MANDANE.
And can it then be true?
Is human nature exil'd from thy breast?
Art thou, indeed, so barb'rous?—

ZAMTI.
Lov'd Mandane,
Fix not your scorpions here—a bearded shaft
Already drinks my spirits up.—

MANDANE.
I've seen
The trusty Morat—Oh! I've heard it all.—
He would have shunn'd my steps; but what can 'scape
The eye of tenderness like mine?—

ZAMTI.
By heav'n
I cannot speak to thee.—

MANDANE.
Think'st thou those tears,
Those false, those cruel tears, will choak the voice
Of a fond mother's love, now stung to madness?
Oh! I will rend the air with lamentations,
Root up this hair, and beat this throbbing breast,
Turn all connubial joys to bitterness,
To fell despair, to anguish and remorse,
Unless my son—

ZAMTI.
Thou ever faithful woman,
Oh! leave me to my woes.—

MANDANE.
Give me my child,
Thou worse than Tartar, give me back my son;
Oh! give him to a mother's eager arms,
And let me strain him to my heart.—

ZAMTI.
Heav'n knows
How dear my boy is here.—But our first duty
Now claims attention—to our country's love,
All other tender fondnesses must yeild;
—I was a subject e'er I was a father.

MANDANE.
You were a savage bred in Scythian wilds,
And humanizing pity never reach'd
Your heart.—Was it for this—oh! thou unkind one,
Was it for this—oh! thou inhuman father,
You woo'd me to your nuptial bed?—So long
Have I then clasp'd thee in these circling arms,
And made this breast your pillow?—Cruel, say,
Are these your vows?—are these your fond endearments?
Nay, look upon me—if this wasted form,
These faded eyes have turn'd your heart against me,
With grief for you I wither'd in my bloom.

ZAMTI.
Why wilt thou pierce my heart?

MANDANE.
Alas! my son,
Have I then bore thee in these matron arms,
To see thee bleed?—Thus dost thou then return?
This could your mother hope, when first she sent
Her infant exile to a distant clime?
Ah! could I think thy early love of fame,
Would urge thee to this peril?—thus to fall,
By a stern father's will—by thee to die!—
From thee, inhuman, to receive his doom!—
—Murder'd by thee!—Yet hear me, Zamti, hear me—
Thus on my knees—I threaten now no more—
'Tis nature's voice that pleads; nature alarm'd,
Quick, trembling, wild, touch'd to her inmost feeling,
When force would tear her tender young ones from her.

ZAMTI.
Nay, seek not with enfeebling fond ideas
To swell the flood of grief—it is in vain—
He must submit to fate.—

MANDANE.
Barbarian! no—
She rises hastily.
He shall not die—rather—I prithee, Zamti,
Urge not a grief-distracted woman:—Tremble
At the wild fury of a mother's love.

ZAMTI.
I tremble rather at a breach of oaths.
But thou break thine.—Bathe your perfidious hands
In this life blood.—Betray the righteous cause
Of all our sacred kings.

MANDANE.
Our kings!—our kings!
What are the scepter'd rulers of the world?—
Form'd of one common clay, are they not all
Doom'd with each subject, with the meanest slave,
To drink the cup of human woe?—alike
All levell'd by affliction?—Sacred kings!
'Tis human policy sets up their claim.—
Mine is a mother's cause—mine is the cause
Of husband, wife, and child;—those tend'rest ties!
Superior to your right divine of kings!—

ZAMTI.
Then go, Mandane—thou once faithful woman,
Dear to this heart in vain;—go, and forget
Those virtuous lessons, which I oft have taught thee,
In fond credulity, while on each word
You hung enamour'd.—Go, to Timurkan
Reveal the awful truth.—Be thou spectatress
Of murder'd majesty.—Embrace your son,
And let him lead in shame and servitude
A life ignobly bought.—Then let those eyes,
Those faded eyes, which grief for me hath dimm'd,
With guilty joy reanimate their lustre,
To brighten slavery, and beam their fires
On the fell Scythian murderer.

MANDANE.
And is it thus,
Thus is Mandane known?—My soul disdains
The vile imputed guilt.—No—never—never—
Still am I true to fame. Come lead me hence,
Where I may lay down life to save Zaphimri,
—But save my Hamet too.—Then, then you'll find
A heart beats here, as warm and great as thine.

ZAMTI.
Then make with me one strong, one glorious effort;
And rank with those, who, from the first of time,
In fame's eternal archives stand rever'd,
For conqu'ring all the dearest ties of nature,
To serve the gen'ral weal.—

MANDANE.
That savage virtue
Loses with me its horrid charms.—I've sworn
To save my king.—But should a mother turn
A dire assassin—oh! I cannot bear
The piercing thought.—Distraction, quick distraction
Will seize my brain.—See there—My child, my child,—
By guards surrounded, a devoted victim.—
Barbarian hold!—Ah! see, he dies! he dies!—

She faints into Zamti's arms.
ZAMTI.
Where is Arsace?—Fond maternal love
Shakes her weak frame— (Enter Arsace.)
Quickly, Arsace, help
This ever-tender creature.—Wand'ring life
Rekindles in her cheek.—Soft, lead her off
To where the fanning breeze in yonder bow'r,
May woo her spirits back.—Propitious heav'n!
Pity the woundings of a father's heart;
Pity my strugglings with this best of women;
Support our virtue:—kindle in our souls
A ray of your divine enthusiasm;
Such as inflames the patriot's breast, and lifts
Th'impassion'd mind to that sublime of virtue,
That even on the rack it feels the good,
Which in a single hour it works for millions,
And leaves the legacy to after times.

[Exit, leading off Mandane.